Act of Pilgrimage
by Evenlodes Friend
Summary: When Robbie retires and settles down with Laura, James sets off on pilgrimage. Things do not go to plan. First kiss, happy ending.


Act of Pilgrimage

 **Author's Note:** The second in the batch of 'Departures' stories. I think I should have called them 'The Acts of St James'! Publishing it for Amelia, because she said I should when I didn't quite have the bottle.

 **NB** : Laurence Fox was invalided out of the jungle recently on a Bear Grylls programme because he contracted trench foot, and I couldn't resist the connection. And yes, trench foot it still 'a thing'. But don't google it unless you have a VERY strong stomach.

* * *

 _Dear James,_

 _I tried to ring you but it was just your machine so I rang work and they said you were away. They gave me this address. I'm sorry. I'd have waited if I could, but I just can't. I know we've never been much for talking. Not about the important stuff anyway. I've spent me whole life writing bloody reports and I can't write a letter. Not one that counts. So if it makes no sense then I'm sorry. I'll do me best._

James stopped reading, and took a deep breath. The sky above him was a soft pearl grey against the navy of the mountains. The sunset was over, and the lights around the porch of the youth hostel were just coming on. The plastic chair dug into his thighs. His feet hurt. God, how his feet hurt!

He had carried the envelope for the last two days, from the central post office where he had arranged to pick up his mail half way. He had opened the others that were with it, and mostly the only action they required was burning. He could not bring himself to open this one. He recognised the handwriting, that familiar crabbed script he had seen on so many reports and forms.

Robbie.

For two days he carried the man in his heart, the letter in his backpack, trudging along the Way across the mountains and ravines of north eastern Spain, trying to pray, trying to concentrate on God.

God never had a look-in when He was up against Robert Lewis.

On the second day, he arrived at the youth hostel late, with agonisingly painful feet and the realisation that he could go no further without opening the letter. It was too heavy. Too heavy with emotion, too heavy with loss.

The hostel manager took one look at him and told him he should see a doctor immediately. Instead, he went outside to be alone with the letter.

The Camino had been his last hope of leaving this love unfulfilled behind. Hope had faded as soon as that letter was put into his hand. Lewis had followed him all the way to Spain. It had been a vain hope anyway.

He lit himself a fag and read on.

 _Things haven't been too good with me and Laura for a while. She wants different things. I want to sit in front of the telly and rest, and she wants to go out and learn salsa and Italian. She wants excitement, and I've had enough excitement to last a lifetime. This morning, we argued all morning. Then we sat down to talk. We agreed its not working. Its better not to muck about any longer. Better to quit while we still have a few shreds of friendship left. I don't want to lose her as a friend. But the truth is, I can't love her. Not when I'm in love with someone else. And she deserves better than that._

 _She's relieved, I think. Trying to live it for both of us has been hard on her. I'm sorry, I really am. I've let you both down. I know you wanted the best for me, and you thought that was Laura but its not. I feel a failure._

 _Because I can't stop loving you._

James almost dropped his cigarette.

He stared at the sheet of paper till his tears blurred the scrawled words.

He managed to look up at the darkening sky, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Took a deep breath. Tried to keep calm. He couldn't have read that. Not in Lewis' hand. It must be wrong. He looked again:

 _Because I can't stop loving you._

There is was. In black and white. Well, blue and white anyway. He wasn't mistaken.

 _You probably don't want to hear that from a foolish old man. Some daft old git who's got his eye fixed on a pretty lad. But you know its not like that. You were there when no one else was. You helped me get through it all, rain or shine. We've had our rows, but you always came back. Now I'm scared you'll never come back again._

 _I miss you. And that's the truth. This retirement lark's no good when I can't see you every day. There's no fun in it without your jokes. I miss your daft ideas and your smart alec mouth. I miss Shakespeare and the rest of the boys in the band. I miss your coffee and the smell of fag ash on your clothes. I miss your pontificating. I miss you cheeking Innocent. And cheeking me. I just miss you._

 _I know nothing can come of it. You don't want me like I want you. I'm an old man and you're young. You've your whole life ahead of you. You deserve to find some pretty lass, or lad if you like – I never did get you to tell me one way or the other, did I? You deserve kids and a home. You deserve to be happy, and have everything you want. You deserve the best, and I can't give you any of that. And after all, I'm just your mate. But I had to tell you. I miss you and I love you, bonny lad. And I hope you'll be able to forgive me enough that when you come back, you'll feel you can meet me for a pint and no hard feelings._

 _Robbie_.

James stared wretchedly at the paper. He read the same sentence over and over again.

 _I miss you and I love you, bonny lad._

The words tore him open.

The stillness of the night enveloped him. His feet throbbed. He really did need to see a doctor. And then, he needed to ring the airline.

* * *

Robbie heard the rattle of the cab engine and the slam of the door from the living room of the flat, but he didn't bother to get up. It could not be for him, after all. Someone arriving up the street. Some welcome visitor, a lover home from a business trip, a parent back from work.

The floor was covered in cardboard boxes. He had meant to take them to Laura's and unpack them when he moved in with her, but had never got around to it. Now he understood why. His heart had never been in it. That was why he kept the lease of the flat on, too. He kidded himself it was his 'man cave' as Lyn put it, somewhere to run away when living together got too much. He'd been a long time on his own, after all, and it is amazing how used to your own space you get. Laura said she didn't mind at the time. Now he knew better. For her, it was the first sign that he was not as committed as he said he was.

Now all he could do was stare at the boxes, and the emptiness they represented.

He had regretted sending the letter as soon as he had put in the post box. Idiot. If James was away, then he wouldn't welcome hearing from home. Why else would he have disappeared like that? It meant he needed some time to be alone. Robbie had assumed he was taking the opportunity to renew his commitment to his religious beliefs. When Innocent emailed him the forwarding address James had left, the conclusion made sense. The Camino de Santiago. Of course. Just like James to go off on some mad trudge across Spain. There last thing he would want would be a letter full of Robbie's woes.

The empty silence that followed proved to Robbie that he had lost his best friend as well as his lover.

The doorbell rang.

An irritating little buzz. Like a fly. Probably someone wanting to deliver a parcel to a neighbour. Would Robbie take it for them? He'd had so many of them. One of the drawbacks of being at home all day. Truth be told, he hated it. Wanted to go back to work. Was thinking of moving to Manchester. The humiliation of that would be bad enough, giving in to his daughter's nagging, but the compensation was seeing little Jack regularly. Well, someone else could take the bloody parcel, because he'd had enough of them.

He was just thinking the caller had moved on to another flat when the bell rang again, longer this time, more insistent.

He swore under his breath. It wasn't the delivery man's fault no one was in. He hauled himself off the sofa, feeling stiff and old, and went to open the door.

* * *

It was raining. Soft, thin, drizzle. Pattering on the leaves, on the tarmac, on the rooves of the parked cars. And on the figure standing at the door.

Backpack and muddy waterproofs. Golden hair darkened by the downpour, clinging around a long, elegant skull. Blue eyes bright, hopeful.

'Robbie?'

Weight barrelled into him. Six foot three inches of former sergeant, golden-haired wonderboy, beloved friend, all at once, long arms around him, holding him tight, as if they'd never let him go.

It's like being mugged by an overexcited Labrador, Robbie thought, as he surrendered to the kisses.

* * *

'Trench foot?'

'Yes.'

'You're serious?'

'Utterly. Believe me, it's not something I would joke about.'

'Only you would go on a summer holiday to Spain, and get bloody trench foot!'

'I don't think you are taking my suffering seriously, sir!'

Robbie pulled him closer, nuzzled his neck tenderly.

'Oi. Less of the 'sir', love. Besides, I _am_ taking it seriously. Got you off your feet as soon as you arrived, didn't I?'

James' arms tightened around his shoulders. 'I can't help feeling you had an ulterior motive.'

'You better believe I bloody did!' They were only on the sofa. That was as far as they managed to get, what with all the kissing and hugging and protestations of love. Still, it was hard to fit two six footers onto such a small piece of furniture. 'We could always go somewhere a bit more comfortable?'

'Mr Lewis, are you trying to seduce me?' James smirked.

'Yes.'

James laughed. It was beautiful. It was the best noise he had heard in years.

'Well, I would very much like to be seduced, but I probably ought to have a shower first. Trench foot, and all that.'

'Mmmm.' Robbie sucked James' earlobe for a while. 'Aren't you supposed to _not_ get it wet?'

'I have a special anti-fungal wash for it.'

'You make it sound so enticing.'

'I was hoping you might be interested in other areas of my body.'

'I am. Shame, though. No shrimping tonight. I wanted to kiss you _all_ over.' Robbie looked down at him. He was beautiful. He might be grubby and tired from the hurried flight, still grimy from long days on the trail, and footsore from the trench bloody foot, but he was glowing with a happiness Robbie never thought he would witness, as if he was lit from within.

'My James.' He stroked James' cheek with his fingertips, feeling the rasp of pale bristles breaking the surface.

'I wish you'd said,' James whispered, gazing up at him as if he was the centre of the universe. Oh, and he wanted that look so much, wanted to drink it in, wanted to bask in it, wanted it to be true for the rest of eternity.

'So do I,' Robbie told him. 'But you're here now, and that's all that matters.'


End file.
